14499/The Raft: Break Out

The Raft: Break Out
Date of Scene:	03 April 2023
Location:	The Raft: Cafeteria
Synopsis:	The Gals are ushered into the Raft's prison cafeteria for scheduled eats. The new arrivals are even gifted some suspicious cupcakes. Some scheming on ways to escape are floated, and a cupcake is definitely consumed with no immediate effects noted. Before much more can be discussed hush-hush, a hazing ritual by an already establish group of inmates drenches the situation in drinks. The resulting scuffle almost brings down the full weight of the security force's hammer on everyone. Some very real rage and some very real performing help muddy the situation enough and keep it regarded as a low level disruption by most standards. They girls are separated, marched off for chores, punishment and study. Though the guards don't realize they've left the cafeteria with more than just bruises and lacerations.
Cast of Characters:	Mary McPherran, June Moone, Crystal Frost, Leslie Willis, Lisa molinari

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Mary McPherran has posed:
It's feeding time. And following that a chance to hit the ~yard~ to stretch the limbs. As part of the schedule in this godforsaken sunken prison it's one of the rare times there's so many prisoners in one place. The Pit, as it is charmingly called, is an octagon where utilitarian tables have been set up with bench seating for eating. Along one wall is the kitchen, where the trays of calories can be offered forth after a prisoner submits to facial scanning. Meals meant to adhere to basic nutritional needs, shaped into delightfully cringey puck-forms resembling the type of food that's been recondensed and reformed:

Chicken in the shape of a pale drumstick. Beef, a ruddier brown colour that looks like a burger patty. Bread slices that are definitely not a wonder. Green mush...which hopefully means vegetable matter. So wobbly it's a warcrime Jello. And hotdogs, which are an odd motled colours of ~all~ the other food stuffs available. Cartons of milk, juice and bottled water.

    And it seems that facial features sometimes have something to do with what lovely pucks someone gets, suggesting...additives...to the observant sort of supervillain. Those working behind the counter are a mix of good behaviour inmates, and food prep staff. The mingling of the two differentiated by the prison jumpsuits or Food Service uniforms beneath the aprons. Of particular note is a certain Marian Pouncy, AKA Poundcakes, and Kateri Deseronto, AKA Coldheart, the latter whom must be finding The Raft extra hazardous to be in with her particular dislike of villains.

Mary has been ushered into the cafeteria to fill her tray, and she's looking pretty dour joining the line for edibles. She furrows some brows of Guards stationed on a walkway that rings the upper levels of the octagon, as she's allowing other inmates to bud in line, and with her slight height advantage, turns and looks to those lining up as well. Looking for friendly faces.

June Moone has posed:
Another inmate being ushered into the Pit is one June Moone. She shuffles forward with her head bowed, hair hanging around her face, because she's not been allowed to get near anything resembling a mirror to comb out those tangled brown threads of hair. She's not been allowed to shower because of the potential for reflective surfaces... so they hose her off and throw clothes in at her. Whatever she DID, they're understandably terrified.

Some of the guards overtly avoid making eye contact with the small woman as she makes her way aimlessly. Swaying as if she's been drugged, she periodically reaches down to steady herself with a palm laid atop a bench table.. Keep moving. Her brain is a foggy mess of blurring images. Groggy brown eyes roll around in her skull, peering at things without actually seeing anything beyond a few feet in front of her.

Since they can't actually STOP the darkness... they have come up with ways to keep the darkness at bay by absolutely obliterating the host. But for the last few hours? She's been suspiciously docile. As if they've finally found the right mix of medications that keep her at bay.

They are fucking wrong.

And they're about to find out.

Crystal Frost has posed:
OH BOY, chow time. If the lack of heat in her cell, and these stupid restrictors weren't bad enough, the food is, in two words, Fucking Awful. Crystal has hated it every time she's been in here, and she will continue to do so every time she's sent here. It's a coping mechanism. Hate the food. Hate everything. Don't get used to it, never, ever let anything become routine or normal. The moment you do is the moment they have you.

Still, she's doing her best model prisoner act. Doing what she's told, when she's told. Keeping to herself and not bothering anyone. It's a ploy, of course, but it always is. She finds herself in the quote-unquote food line, ending up by Mary. She wants to lift a hand and pat the tall woman on the arm, but she doesn't. Mostly because it's against the rules and they might shoot her in the head.

"Titania," Crystal says in greeting, eyes flickering across to the shuffling June and feeling a lance of pity through her heart. How they treat her is criminal. It's infuriating.

Leslie Willis has posed:
Livewire has left the building. Without a steady flow of electric current to amp her up to 'Electrical discharges in her brain are making her manic, paranoid, and that reeeeeal fun special kind of crazy', it turns out that Leslie Willis, is in fact, a little less rambling, a bit less manic, and a lot more sullen.

Also, despite her constant insistence that she needs 'That real good free range Alternating Current shit', she gets... chicken.

If anything keeps her going, it's finding out how many dumb faces she can make and still have the facial scanner recognize her. Partly it's a form of petty rebellion, reminding herself that she is in fact too cool for school. But also, sometimes she spots guards with what are clearly some sort of high powered taser nightstick. And she just needs to get the power suppressor collar off, and goad one into giving her a zap, and then... oh, then Livewire will be back, baby. But right now? Right now it's all Leslie 'Beginning to think this Prison Industrial Complex thing is some real bullshit' Willis getting her chicken, mystery mush, and milk.

As she shuffles along the line, she scowls at the chicken, leaning down, hissing out, "You can't trick me. You aren't real chicken. You look like a chicken pickup in Pac-Man, that's older than me! That's probably older than my _mom_... you are A FRAUD AND I WILL PROVE IT!!"

Still, for all her passion, Leslie's learned to keep her tirades against the food quiet. Not 'can't be overheard by anyone' quiet, but 'The guards take particular pleasure in correcting her volume over a certain point she has mapped out' quiet.

And so, food acquired, and properly warned she knows its true nature, she looks around for friendly faces... well, faces can be hard to pick out. But Mary's got that whole tall thing going on, which leads to Leslie giving a little half-hearted wave. She's going to do her best to stick to Titania like a magnet. At least until... something changes in the mind numbing routine. Sure, day to day the routine's different, but very quickly, each and every chore, group session, and other activity has been sorted into one overall category of 'Some plain ol' buuuuullshit.'

Lisa molinari has posed:
There was a certain artistic quality to this food. It was the main reason that Lisa could bring herself to eat it. Not the good kind of art, mind. But the kind where everything was being done to /just/ barely be able to call it food so that the inmates of the Raft wouldn't enjoy their meals, but wouldn't go starving in a way that could putt their captors in with the convicts.

That very specific cruelty was something that she could appreciate. Likewise was being locked up in here with people who could quite literally eat her alive.

For some, it was Hell On Earth. For Coat of Arms? ...well, it was still Hell On Earth, but it was also a twisted form of inspiration. Picasso had his 'Blue' period, she would have... well. She's still working on it.

Since her initial confrontation with the guards on the ride over, she's been... well. Despite her attempts, she won't earn time on the other side of the food line any time soon. Forcefully seperated from her source of power, she's no more special than any of the kids she knew back in Juvie. It makes her feel weak. It keeps her up at night. It makes her angry. That doesn't lead to the best of behaviour. Fortunately for the staff of the Raft? She's just an angry girl, unlike many of the others kept here.

Still... when she's with the /others/ she calms down a bit more. While incarceration has represented hopelessness, they represent hope. Not so much hope of escape, just hope of getting on their level... so once she's got her food? She's making a beeline for the four she came in with. Offering a bit of a wave, slowing to walk /near/ June in case she needs someone -- or something -- to grab onto.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary spots familiar folks, waves to beckon them over, dropping her arm like a toll booth to collect peeps before heading into the line again for her own food. "Frost." she says with some warmth. "Hey, you think they got pizza?" Mary asks sarcastically. There's a tone in her voice, which is out of place with the swole gal. Like she's a transfer student back in highschool hell.

Mary visibly winces upon spotting June managing to venture into the cafeteria under her own power. "Hey girl, come over here and we'll get you a tray of...whatever this stuff is." With the amount of pity and fear that Moone seems to invoke, it's driving Mary a little crazy wanting to get all the details. She probably wouldn't offer the tray as she did if she knew half of it. But for now, she doubles two trays, not that it looks like she wouldn't need extra calories. Her opinion of Lisa rises, seeing her trying to also provide a little support. "I think you gotta show your face. Just lift your chin and we'll find a table. I overheard a thing." This latter bit offered conspiratorial-like to Frost and Lisa, once Leslie has also joined within mumbling distance. "How badly you all wanna get out of here?" She clears her throat. "I know you're all thinking it, but how far you willing to go to get it?"

June Moone has posed:
Someone bumps into Junes' back and nearly knocks her into someone infront of her. Which leads to her dropping down onto a bench, only managing to catch herself with her palms laying flat against the dull grey metal painted to prevent some of these psychos from using their powers. There are some pretty weird people in this place... As luck, or the lack of it perhaps, she finds herself groggily laying across a bench at Leslie's table.

She doesn't look like she's even remotely aware of the woman she, vaguely, knows, however. Staring around from behind a curtain of damp brown hair with dull brown eyes that see, but don't SEE. There's no indication of her hunger either, even if she were aware of it.

A pale hand slaps the top of the table to pull her up, completely on auto-pilot. Lazily staring with half-lidded eyes at Leslie, her food, and anyone sitting around them. A long line of drool rolls down her jaw, it hangs from her chin until it finally drips down onto her lap. Her attention is drawn over to Mary speaking to her, palm slapping at the food.. the clank of her palm against it rattles it against the table.

And her head jerks slightly.. CLANK...

Her wrist hits the tray again.

CLANK.. CLANK..... CLANK...

Hissssssssss... lips peel back from her teeth. Head tilting to the side in slow jerking motions.

CLANK... CLANK...

Crystal Frost has posed:
Crystal has decided, with some degree of inward disdain that she is kind of a Mom Friend. There are worse things to be, but when you're Killer Frost, it's kind of embarassing. That's for later, though. She keeps a bit of an eye out as Mary gathers the others up for a little conference.

Her eyes snap onto Titania at the question. "I would literally do almost anything. Spill it." Though, it's hard to concentrate as June does ... creepy June things. The pity in her eyes is mixed with a flicker of almost instinctual terror, but she forces it away. This poor girl, despite what the rumors say, is just another woman stuck in this shithole with the rest of them. It doesn't matter who or what her powers are. She deserves to not be here like the rest of them.

She looks back to Mary, eyes flinty. "If I could get this restrictor off, I'd ...," she trails off, not ready to finish the statement.

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie glances over to Mary and snarls softly, lips curling back in a little grimace, "I would like... I literally /can't/ think of how much I'd be willing to do to get out." Already pale knuckles grip her dinner tray tighter, drawing a slow, deep breath, hissing out, "I would... I dunno, sell gamer girl bath water? I'll kill a guard with a goddamn /spoon/... I mean, depending on the guard I'd do it without knowing it meant escaping."

And then she's glancing over to June, her mouth falling open... that clanking... that slow... methodical clanking. "Uhhh... oh... /shit/... does your uhh... plan involve Spooky? Because..." She's starting to squirm nervously, "Oh man guys, I don't wanna... see this shit again..."

Suddenly, Leslie's dinner tray is looking so much more interesting, eyes down, focused, squeezing cheap styrofoam bread into a tight ball. Both to eat it quicker, and because... yeah, whatever she's seen of June in the past?

It has Leslie's jimmies ruffled that she's acting all /weird/ again.

Lisa molinari has posed:
"Whatever it takes." comes Lisa's very serious reply to Titania's question, the artist looking up towards the Amazon with a bit of a shine to her eyes. Incarceration was art, yes. But it wasn't her art. She wasn't the creative force driving it. She could make tiny impacts, sure, but that wasn't even a collaboration.

There's a look over towards Crystal, next. Eyes seeking out the restrictor. Trying to study it. She might be powerless, without her Coat, but the others? They were powderkegs, barely contained. She was sure of it. Like a door, they just needed to be unlocked, and the other side of that door would be beautiful.

Leslie gets a look, and a bit of a snort. "Gamer girl bath water sells surprisingly well, so... don't knock it until you try it, eh?" The current conversation -- and company -- helping bring her a little levity to her attitude. Though it also turns her attention a little more directly towards June. June who's not eating. Who's not talking. Who's... barely there? Lisa frowns, glancing between the others. "Is... is she gonna be okay?" she asks. There's concern there. Is /this/ what the Big League Prisons really do to people?

It made a possible exit that much more important. "Whatever it takes, and then some." she adds, correcting her initial answer of Mary's question.

Mary McPherran has posed:
A raven-haired woman working behind the food counter alongside Poundcakes raise their gazes up, to stare out and over the lunch line towards June. There is a very harried conversation snapping back and forth between them, pausing their dishing out of allowed foodstuffs. From the enunciations, they're a bit anxious and furrow browed. Gestures, furtive, code, passed back and forth with the speed and practice of frequent use. The woman with Poundcakes wipes her hands on her apron and pulls forth something to add to some very specific trays.

They're cupcakes. Mary doesn't seem to initially notice, drawn towards June's outbursts. Mary murmers, "She's losing it. Why they sent a girl like that to this place...Fuck sakes..." A pause and she accepts a tray for herself and the disturbed Moone, peering down questioningly at a number of mini-cakes partially hidden from view by a slap of beef-shape. One is added to Crystal and Lisa's tray as well, nudged under regular stuff. The long raven-haired woman, bearing the name 'T. Sealy' on her tag. Her voice slithers out, "Just a little something whipped up to make new arrivals' first week easier. Hey, don't hold up the line. You'll make everyone else jealous, yeah? Save it for when you feel real blue, yeah?"

"Yeah sure, when we're blue..." Titania purses her lips and moves with the others towards June to settle into seats around her. Mary notes Leslie's demeanor and chews on her lip before pushing over a little mini-cupcake. "I know how you feel."

Mary murmers, rolling her shoulders back, "Been told the restrictors can be overloaded if someone can get juiced up real good, though it'll really hurt for anyone that's enhanced, but even a tickle for those that aren't. Someone with nimble fingers could do a little sensitive work if we could only palm some tools. If they're fast. If they're going into it knowing that if the collar doesn't come off in time, it's game over. They do maintenance on 'em in house here, but would need to be sneaky or be in real good or tricksy with the screws and eggheads here. Any of you good with a pick? But there's also a fucking field bathing this place in bad juju. One hell of a shit sandwich they got stacked on us. I wish we could get our hands on one of them fuckin shock prods...But anyways, like I heard, what was told to me, if the collars come off, that's the first window to leap through. And to make it stick long enough to make a difference..." Mary palms a piece of meat-shape into her mouth. "We gotta pull a small favour before we leave for good. If you're all willing to do ~anything~, we can pull it off."

Mary adds as an afterthought, "I've...heard that there's sometimes accidents on the exercise yard, and that can really land someone in the medical clinic for a spell. Lots of equipment locked up there..." She swallows.

June Moone has posed:
June's head jerks to the side, a spasm of the muscles in her neck, and then she blows out a long, low hissing sigh. She doesn't collapse against the table, but relaxes. There's a sporatic flicker along pale lips hidden behind damp brown hair, for a few seconds, those immediately around her become intimately aware that the lights have come back on behind those brown eyes.

The roll around in her skull until they fix upon the cupcake laid beneath that meat patty.

There is a dark resonnance suddenly in the way she's moving. As a hand flops across her brow to fling her hair back off her face, as her shoulders round and her spine straightens. She's sitting like a Queen on a Throne.

The disconnect between the mousy, groggy, drugged up woman she had been a few moments before and ... whatever this is? It only last a few seconds...

Then she reaches out and shoves the cup cake in her mouth, eating it before anyone can stop her. If she knows that there's a high chance it's poisoned, she doesn't seem to care.

Maybe it'll kill her.

Then she wont kill anyone.

Because she's going to...

Crystal Frost has posed:
Crystal is immediately suspicious of the little cakes delivered. Her first assumption is that they're drugged. Or poisoned. Or both. The nametag doesn't ring a bell immediately, though it might later. She pretends it's not there for the moment. "I'm pretty handy with a pick," she says with a shrug. "Though it's a lot harder than it looks on a normal lock, I doubt I can just rake these things open."

"As for overloading, not sure I can handle the heat that'd be necessary to do it without, you know, burning to death." She jerks her head at Leslie. "She'd probably be fine, though." Her smile is friendly, teasing towards Leslie. Then June just mows down the cupcake, Crystal's reaction time too slow as she reaches out fruitlessly. She looks between the other ladies and back to June, waiting a few beats to see if whatever might be in it is fast acting.

"Don't go repeating this, but I'd sell myself to get out of here," she says. The way she says those words is full of implications. She will do anything, and she means it. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll get it done. I'm a professional."

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie eyes that cupcake and shuffles her food around to hide it... because she thinks it's important? Sure. It's really important. It's a cupcake in this godawful industrial hellhole. She heaves out a sigh, listening to Mary's murmuring about the prison's security. Her eyebrows perk, glancing around at the mention of someone getting juiced up.. and the shock prod. That mention earns a wistful little sigh. Like someone just mentioned Famous Ray's Original Pizza to a real pizza lover. Oh sweet sweet electricity.

But Leslie doesn't slow the line down more than a bit with her slow, downtrodden trudge through the line. She glances up at the cupcake lady with a crooked grin, "Okay, promise I won't eat it before dessert, but like... feeling blue?" She ruffles that blue hair, limp and not lifted up like usual... electric powers? Awesome hair powers. No electric powers? Really sad hair powers. "I think that's pretty much always."

And then she shuffles along and eyes June as she... just eats the cupcake. The totally suspicious cupcake that she figures is either A) Poison, or B) Some kind of horribly addictive drug that gets you hooked, like in all those old PSAs. Because like... why else give cupcakes to the newbies? And this realization makes Leslie freeze and mumble, "Holyshit, I was gonna /totally eat this/... I should... say no to drugs or something... but..." She eyes the now suspicious cupcake. It can't really be worse than the chicken, can it? Like, at worst it's just /drugs/!

Lisa molinari has posed:
There's a nod offered towards Sealy -- while she does pay attention to the 'Who's Who' of supers... well, it's a bit harder to tell the players without a program sometimes, or the villains without the costumes, as the case might be. "Hey, thanks." Lisa replies with the slightest of smiles. How good that thing will be is debatable. But there's a decent chance it'll be better than some of the other things.

She's moving along with the others without hesitation, though. No attempts to slow. No outbursts, not now.

Mary's planning gets a smile. A smile that gets wider when Crystal pipes up that she knows her way around a pick. Her turn to speak up, too. "I can get my hands on things when these chumps aren't looking." She demonstrates with a piece of meat that is in her hand, vanishes with a little flourish, and reappears from within her sleeve. Then into the mouth it goes.

Once she chews, and with a bit of a face being made, swallows, she continues. "...and, uh. I'm... you know." There's a hint of shame that creeps into Lisa's voice, here. Eyes turning to the table. "Normal." is added after a moment in a bit of a mumble. "My Coat's what makes me special."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary licks at her lips, and her eyes bulge when June gobbles down the suspicious cake. She's also way to slow to stop or protest the action. She watches anxiously, and there's mounting apprehension as the whole demeanor of the other woman exhibits changes.

Mary tries to stretch her legs, hating the feel of these jumpsuits and how they're not one-size fits all. But there's some bright sparks of hope here in comisserating and gelling with a goal. "I'll try and make a distraction. I don't think I can turn an eye like you girls, but I'm sure I can make a racket at good time. They ain't robots, at least, they don't seem to be." She sniffs and pockets her cupcake for later. A glance towards Lisa, and she's squinting, and nodding slowly. "Hey yeah, if something goes wild with the Collar or cuffs, you won't get any backlash...at least that's the gossip. Could be a real advantage."

And that's when a score of other inmates saunters by the table of five, in that way that's so exaggerated, holding their trays like they are the bearers of precious treasures. "Welcoming committeeeeee..." a red-headed woman among them with a shit eating grin and the nametag of 'M. Walker' trills in sing-song voice.

Mary raises her gaze towards the inmates coming up to their shared table. Oh gawd, this really is just like being back in high school. Here comes a clique. "We're eating h-" she starts to bray.

It's not an accident. Their trays, all their trays...bearing milk and juice with their caps removed or cartons peeled open. A cascade of fluids fly in the direction of the conspiratorial fab five's table.

Crystal Frost has posed:
It seems like a plan is coming together. The bones of one, anyway. Crystal doesn't let herself feel hope. It tries to spring, but she locks it back in ice. She can't have the temptation of belief. Not until it happens. This kind of thing needs cold practicality, not feelings. She's used to it, so it takes her almost no effort.

"Just ... just be careful, okay Mary? Don't sacrifice your freedom for ours, alright?"

Then comes another squad. Bigger. Crystal narrows her eyes, hands clenching upon the table. "Welcoming commitee? What the fu--" Then they're just covered in all sorts of slop. It's disgusting. She tries to clamp the fury down, to lock it in more ice, but she has none left. Hope took so much to close off. She gets up, wiping food gunk from her face, eyes blazing in fury. Though it's really hard to be intimidating climbing from a cafeteria bench.

June Moone has posed:
June has checked back out. Weither because of the cupcake she just ate in a flurry or because she's an exceptionally strange young lady is unknown. Only that she slumps a little, bits of cupcake on her face, eyes turned to stare down into her lap. A quiet humming coming from her as she picks at something on her jumpsuit. Is she paying any attention at all?

There's only the vaguest of glances up at the quartet of women around her and the barest hint of a wierd grin on her pale face, then she looks back down into her lap. Gently rocking side to side, a slow rythmical circling on her hips.

Right up until the welcoming comittee come to sit around them.

Brown eyes roll towards M. Walker. All motion stops.

"I'm going to hurt you."

June is making a list.. names on a chalkboard. REEEEEEEEE SKREEECHING onto the chalky white-green board in her mind. It's not calming her down any, but it is starting to focus her. Possibly too much?

The wave of milk and juice hit her in the back of the head and splash her already damp hair down across her face.. dripping white from the thready brown curls dangling down her cheeks. Unplushed.

"... Very badly ..."

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie's got a feeling, tension building, her neck twisting side to side slowly... these prison jumpsuits are uncomfortable. They're even /more/ uncomfortable when you normally wear ionized atmospheric particles you turn into your own clothing. It's like thousand thread count silk versus a potato sack. Which means she's in a bad mood, organizing her food into the most efficient way to eat it for the calories without wanting to kill herself.

And that's when these dorkholes decide to go all high school Mean Girls on the group and dump /slop/ on them. Well... nuts to that! What're they going to do, expel her from _prison_?

Leslie is controlled. Calm. That little suspicious cupcake is picked up, put aside under a paper napkin. Shhh, little cupcake. Don't look, little cupcake.

Momma's gotta murder someone with a cafeteria tray. Leslie Willis does not know how to fight. She has no martial arts training. She has never had to throw a real punch, because throwing real punches at Kryptonians is a joke.

Fortunately, this isn't a fist fight. This is some hardcore pro wrestling backyard dumb shit. And Leslie Willis? Leslie Willis can do that. She doesn't try to look intimidating when she stands up and steps back from the table. People say the key in prison is to find the toughest looking inmate and take them out.

That's some stupid bullshit. The toughest inmate is the _toughest to beat up_. Leslie aims at the _weakest_ looking inmate, all 'Wolf attacking a deer herd' style and proceeds to swing her cafeteria tray like it is the finest steel chair.

Lisa molinari has posed:
"Definitely -- we all get out, or we burn this place down trying."

Lisa's attention keeps going back and forth between the three lucid ones and June. There's a kinship there. The five of them arrived together. They're in this together. So even though Lisa... doesn't really know /what/ is going on with poor June, at least not to the level that Leslie does, she's still concerned. Concerned and unable to help. Not really.

Of course, with all of her attention being split between the four other women at the table and no eyes in the back of her head, it's not even the warning of the welcoming committee that gets Lisa's attention. It's /when/ milk and juice and whatever /else/ soaks her.

It was bad enough feeling shame about being the powerless one here. Mary had tried to help her through it, but... this amplifies it.

Shame leads to fear. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to...

Well, Leslie strikes first. Lisa? Doesn't have the foresight to grab the tray as a weapon. Instead, she's launching herself off her seat like a spear to try and tackle the person in the /front/ of the 'enemy' group. If she remembers anything from her own days in Juvie, it was take the biggest one down or die trying.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary gets to her feet, the action nearly upending the table. Like Frost, it's hard to really make a certain impression when you're seated in such away. Grabbing her empty tray in her fist, she starts to squeeze it real, real hard. Crystal Frost is so damn cool, no pun intended, and Livewire and Coat-of-Arms has got so much heart. Mary is somewhere in the middle, and takes the middle road into the group, lurching, swinging a haymaker center mass towards the figure beside Inmate Walker, a girl who bears a faint scar on her cheek. A quiet girl 'O. Midas' who ~moves~ like quicksilver, helping Titania along with a frightening amount of martial arts prowess in weight redistribution. Mary goes past her and into a neighbouring table instead, sending others bouncing and rolling.

Cool as a cucumber, Midas, AKA Exterminatrix, turns her back on Mary, facing Frost and raises a palm, flicking a 'Come try me' gesture.

Leslie's singling out of the less capable looking member pays off in dividends. Maybe it was that faux calm on display, lending her the ability to get such a good drop on meangirl in tow. There is a satisfying ~CLONG~ as a head gets a tray upside it, denting the alloy. The bell has been rung like her head, and the Inmate will be known as goose-egg for that bruise if she lives through this. Leslie's opponent comes lurching back to swing her fist, her tongue extending with a lizard-like flick, barbed quills at the tip whipping dangerous towards eyes and neck.

The ringleader of the mean girls, ~Typhoid Mary~ Walker, opens her mouth in a round hole, and her eyes are ~alight~ with manic mirth. There's something unhinged in there, and she starts shrieking with a mixture of laughter. Her eyes tear up with moisture as she fixates on little previously so weak and pitiful seeming June. Her laughter becomes a strangled croak as Lisa plows into her side and takes her backwards and carries the both of them into ~another~ cafeteria table. Typhoid Mary rakes and scratches like a wildcat at Lisa's neck and face, still frigging cackling.

Those others that came along for the hazing, they try and fling their trays past Frost, to lay down some cheap shots at June. Already, more are rising from their tables, only now reacting and their flight or fight instincts shoving their chips one side or the other. Up above, the Guards were wary, and perhaps this little playbook has been put in motion before, albeit with a very different group of ladies. And this is the Raft, where some problems can become smaller under the right controlled conditions. Some problems are even a little entertaining and more manageable after. Some Guards like to scrape up the pieces of what's left behind. Some ~bet~.

June Moone has posed:
One of the trays hits June right in the face, along the bridge of her nose, and snaps her head backwards with the impact. She wasn't standing, hadn't raised a hand, except to threaten Typhoid Mary. So when the hurled, spinning, tray smacks her, it sends her tumbling backwards with a spray of blood arcing up into the air.

She careens backwards and kicks the underside of the table when her shoulders hit the floor. Temporarily locking her in a position that makes it impossible to defend herself, while blood pours down over her lips and quickly blackening eye. Several girls get in quick snapping kicks of her ribs, one of which is the only reason she's able to unhook her knees and legs from the bench when it shifts her position.

Curling up in a ball, one arm up defending the side of her head and face, a boot hits her so hard between the gape between her forearms, right in the mouth.. it almost knocks her out, but something stirs..

Something sinister this way comes.

A shriek from the floor... a plastic fork in hand...

June curls her arm up so the next kick catches an elbow in the shine. Anyone who's ever had their shine kicked knows how god awful that hurts. She pushes with her feet and knocks the attacker back, enough that she rises up from the floor.

Wet hair dangling across a pale face with one bloodshot brown eye, blackening from her broken nose, which pours blood down her snarling face. As she stabs that plastic fork right into someones eyeball. Leaping at her like a savage, she stabs it over... and over... and over... SCREAMING down at her, blood splattering across the unnamed, uncared about, villaineses face. Unintelligent, incoherent, words.

STAB.. STAB... STAB...

Crystal Frost has posed:
Crystal escapes from the table. It's uncool looking, but her face is frozen. An icy mask of ... something. It might be rage. It might be annoyance. The scariest option of all is that she feels nothing, and this isn't even personal, just business. Just a transaction that the other group started.

Then she's called out. Crystal spits on the floor in derision. She rolls her neck, the joints popping as she sizes up the Exterminatrix. With a name like that, it's either all posturing, or she's really good. Then again, she -is- Killer Frost.

Crystal lunges for the Exterminatrix, feinting high with a straight right, only to instead send the real attack from below. She swings her foot up, trying to crash right between the Exterminatrix's thighs. The kick to the crotch doesn't just work on boys, you know.

Somehow, she finds the attention to witness June. It's terrible. It's horrifying and violent and merciless. "Get that bitch, June!" It's just what she needs to do.

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie keeps hold of her tray, holding it in front of her face like a shield, and rushing towards... tongue gal? She's not sure what she's gonna call her. Definitely not Goose Egg. But she /is/ going to tackle into her and try to bring them down with a sharp hiss, "HEY! TAKE A DIVE YOU DUMB BINT!" She tries to keep that tray against Viper's mouth, voice low and urgent, "You dipshits picked a fight with... uhhh... spooky gal! She's goddamn nuts! I saw her _rip a kid's jaw off_! We just... tussle until the guards break this shit up!"

And Leslie tries to... well, look like she's really fighting. Which, since she doesn't know how to fight /or/ act, looks a lot like she's just kind of grinding and writhing against Viper in an uncoordinated mess of limbs while shoving her tray against her face to avoid that crazy tongue, "Jesus, you New York girls are hardcore!"

Lisa molinari has posed:
Lisa Molinari has been called crazy before. Eccentric was probably a better word to attribute to the artist. Her opponent for the moment, though? Crazy feels like a good word for that one.

The initial thud, first of shoulder slamming into midsection, and then as bodies crash into table? Those are satisfying. The nails she's almost instantly being met with? Well, those are less so.

Lisa Molinari is no Typhoid Mary when it comes to unarmed combat. She doesn't have the martial arts background of the other woman, and her specialty tends to involve four other limbs and sharp pointy things.

This isn't either of those kind of fights, though, and while there's the immediate temptation, combined with the lack of 'good behaviour' shocks coming to try and stop her, to just... unleash her pent up rage now that she has a proper outlet and turn this into a Jersey style mugging? There's a point the Mary on their side made that clicks like a lightbulb in Lisa's head

The guards aren't robots.

So instead of the brawl she /wants/... she opts for the catfight, instead. For Lisa, this becomes performance art. Painful, bloody performance art. Typhoid Mary strikes with nails? So Lisa's grabbing for a fistful of hair and yanking as hard as she can. Using her other hand to slam fists wherever she can find purchase -- and if the jumpsuits feel flimsy enough? She'll try ripping, too. Because it makes for a better show.

Mary McPherran has posed:
It's more than fruit juice spouting now. There's so much going on in the melee, the Guards are calling it in, but it's all 'hang fire' while they try and assess. They're moving along the walkway, trying to get a better view, heads turned and dipped to the side so they can yell into their comms.

The woman beneath June's fury gapes open her mouth as wide as it will go, howling out in agony as her eyeball is burst and clear fluids and blood mingle, surge, and erupt together. The wild flailing hands of the person being stabbed blindly paw and rake at June and then extend in Frankenstein-like pantomimes when the fork goes deep enough to strike the solid inward curve of the optical crevice. Her screams are still somehow drowned out by the other woman's. Her heels drum upon the ground in impromptu tap-dancing.

Frost's opponent is good. She's way good. The opening attack is a good feint, but she still spots it. A small infuriating smirk on the one who calls herself Exterminatrix, and from within her sleeves extends twin stilettos, repurposed from the medical clinic. The sorts of things better suited for probing or trepanning. The points probably tiny enough to do all manner of exacting damage to a gal. She twirls them dextrously, getting them poised between her knuckles. Very, very confident in poise and her ability to see Frost's true attack. It's unfortunate that her efforts to block that punt slip on the slick ground, and the hit connects. She drops her crazy-thin stabby pins from twitching fingers and offers a groan that no throat should make, or person want to hear. That kick ~connected~ in a way that makes the soul want to leave the body. She about-faces and staggers, feet sliding over the spilt dairy, nearly tripping over her stolen makeshift weapons.

The barbed freaky tongue ~whaps~ against the tray that Leslie uses as protection. ~whap Thwack!~ She's down on the ground, and under Livewire, gargling with range as her tongue strikes are practically useless this close up. When she tries to punch and knee at the woman atop her, she's giving out a lot of clues she's not the fighter of the group, more a of groupie. Leslie picked a good one. And that tongue is needing to be pulled back in, the woman whimpering and shrieking to have the wildcat up and off her. "You bitch! Ow! Owwowowow, bitch!" It's all defense now on her part.

Mary is on her hands and knees, in amongst a tangle of other prisoners, and some are trying to get her in a headlock. With three girls on her, Titania is weighed down by numbers, being fed a facefull of fake heretical looking hotdogs as well.

Typhoid Mary isn't laughing anymore, there's too much anger turning it into a choking garble. Up close and personal, it's a lot of gnashing of teeth and wild eyes. She makes Lisa pay for her art, but it does pay off the way she hopes. Much as Leslie may be hoping with her dance partner. It's a gory messy display, gratuitous and loud. The fight becomes a matter of emotion. Though the filed screwdrivers strapped to Typhoid Mary's thighs feels quite real during the melee. She's so cray-cray right now, she doesn't go for them, but they can be felt there.

June Moone has posed:
The grasping, pawing hands, grab at June's jumpsuit, trying to defend against the downward strike of that bloody plastic fork, but June swats at them. Struggling with a ruthless fury born out of a real, life, woman who has been pushed to the snapping point. Fury reigns. She shakes her head out of the grip on bloody brown hair trying to do anything to stop her onslaught. Until she shifts one knee forward and pins the unnamed woman's shoulder to the floor and bites at the pinky of a hand grabbing at her bloody jaw when the finger gets entirely too dangerously close to her teeth.

There's a crunching, snap, and then a spray of blood that mingles with the wild looking monster of a woman pinning the other inmate down. She shakes her head like a dog, growling and snarling, and then pushes the hand away with a jerk of her head.

The fight is beaten out of her opponent.

June, covered in blood, both her own and another inmates, stands up from the floor in a smooth motion... staring through the chaos of her hair covered in dark ichor.. When another inmate comes at her, she lifts the broken off piece of plastic fork and glares... then spits half a pinky at them.

So they go find someone else to fuck with.

But the fight is out of her.

The guards come rushing at her... pausing only long enough to guage how much she's willing to struggle. Until her hands lift, fork clattering to the floor.. They come in and take hold of her, pinning her arms up as she's slammed against the top of the table with absolutely no resistance now that they're actually breaking up the fight.

Crystal Frost has posed:
Crystal watches those pointy bits come out and smirks. It doesn't matter, as the terrible kick does exactly as it's supposed to. She spits on the fallen Exterminatrix, stooping down to pick up the thin blades. She slips them up her sleeves as best she can. She's no expert knife fighter, but if she can keep ahold of these, she can get this damn collar off. Then the next time the guards visit, well, it'll be a real break.

She stands back up, taking a look around at the melee, grimacing at the raw brutality of June. She makes two mental notes. One: DO NOT PISS HER OFF. Two: No, really, do not piss her off. Though, when she surrenders, Crystal decides that it's probably her best chance to keep her contraband.

She steps forward, holding her hands out in front of her, wrists together as if they were already cuffed. It doesn't take but a moment for them to -be- cuffed. She's sweating now, and will be until she's back in her cell without being searched, but there might just be a chance to get this thing off.

Leslie Willis has posed:
Leslie's basically reduced to a pitiful catfight with Viper, one hand keeping that tray pressed against the other woman's face, the other raining down mostly ineffectual blows. It is truly a battle of the two least capable close combatants... because June's got that crazy stab-happy energy and Leslie hasn't got that!

Once she hears the sound of guards approaching though, Leslie leaps up and /boots/ that tray down onto Viper's face in some real hardcore gangster shit. Why? Because she needs a minute.

A minute to rush back to the table, to look around and find her precious cupcake... at which point she presses her lips into a thin line... eying that cupcake... wait... was one of these gals working the food line? Was this cupcake some kind of double trap? Well, she'll find out when the guards frisk her. If they take the cupcake, it's probably fine. If they feed it to her? Well, who knows.

Lisa molinari has posed:
At least brawls among the bad girls of the facility -- whether this one, or Juvie -- are the kind of thing that Lisa's familiar with. Granted, they didn't include... whatever June was doing that she hasn't quite been able to see but could certainly hear and, indeed, feel when blood sprays from a direction that doesn't make sense.

While none of the girls in the fight are really to be trifled with? She's especially glad /that/ one is on their side.

Scratch, claw, roll. There's a show being put on, though it's also a very real /fight,/ too. At least until she feels those screwdrivers. The pickpocket's instincts go into full effect here. The first hand connecting after there's a brief plan isn't meant to inflict pain, it's a very different kind of grab. The second hand is going for the tool-slash-weapon, to take it up her sleeve -- and then somewhere more discreet as quick as she can.

Once that's done? She's going to try to push off of and away from her opponent. Get a little space between herself and her superior opponent so that the guards can, well, do their jobs before Typhoid Mary can /really/ go to town on her.

Mary McPherran has posed:
When the Guards get the green light to enter the fray, their coming is heralded by banging of truncheons on riot shields. There's no hissing of gas or flashbangs going off, which is a savings of some tax payer money, but the cafeteria is a mess. Some of the longer-term inmates that have never achieved a rare escape, move off to the walls and place their hands behind their heads, foreheads on metal. The scuffle has certainly been a lovely outlet for other though, and they require extra coaxing to be rendered compliant. "Get them lined up! Get 'em separated! Jay-sus Chree-ist!"

Mary spits, enraged at having been sent so effortlessly off to the side during the fight. Staring, she tries to take in the carnage, the insanity that's draping over everything. The absolute frustration in being rendered so weak compared to what she's been used to. A vein is pulsing in her temples, more standing out along her muscled body like angry worms squirming just beneath her skin. For a moment, the limiters on her body start to overheat, threatening to singe her, and the smell of scalded milk taints the air. She does get to take stock of what the other gals got up to though, with varying degrees of pride and horror. It's a bit spiteful when she levers her head backwards and delivers a parting shot to the Guard pulling her arms behind her to cuff. If she had been unlimited, it would be more than a nose getting flattened.

The Nullifer from the ride over on the aircraft, strides over to take stock with a group of guards that have expression of mirth and disgust. He's directing traffic, singling out the most probable suspects to his mind. "You ladies earned yourselves a cold sticky night. No showers for these ones...let 'em wear all that and see if they don't learn a lesson." Gesturing to the kitchen staff, warily hanging back, he yells, "Clean up. And no complaining or bitching, or you get ~rehab~." His gaze turns back on Typhoid Mary's bunch, a sneer for them. But it's the fab five that get more than a sneer. There's a promise of something extra. "Had to do this during my shift rotation. You just had to. Stupid dumb broads. Yeah, the filthy five here can stew in their juices. Get 'em where they need to go." His gaze lingers, and his head tilts, as if thinking of something particularly noteworthy to make up for his future paperwork and destruction of an easy shift. "Get ~that~ one back to the Panopticon, tie a mop to the ogre...these three...Yeah, O'brien, Stavos...we'll take them for a walk."